


This Day Forward

by prototyping



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Romance, engaged dorks being awkward nerds in love, getting fluff out of my system before i turn to angst, pre-marriage UST aaayyyyy, something like that, this is assuming she chose the ‘you beat me to it’ option
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-22 07:04:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20870177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prototyping/pseuds/prototyping
Summary: “Because it’s a part of you,” she says simply, honestly. “And... I want all of you.”





	This Day Forward

It’s the first time she’s seen him dressed casually－casual for him, anyway. The silk white shirt is designed to be loose and flowing, but it’s a bit of a tight fit on his physique, particularly where the wide sleeves have been rolled up to his elbows. The buttons on the front are undone and the shirt clings stickily to his shoulders and sides, all giving the impression of a hot summer day rather than the cold spring night that it actually is.

The windows of his office are propped open and the room is positively chilly－Byleth rubs her arms as she enters－but Dimitri, seated at his desk and hunched over piles of papers and books, has clearly worked himself into a sweat regardless.

He glances up as she nears, his stern concentration breaking into a warm, tired smile. “You’re up late.”

She cocks an eyebrow at him and gives his messy desk an indicative glance. “And you’re overworking yourself, again.”

He sets his quill down and rotates his wrist, cracking a couple stiff joints. “Not for much longer. I fully intend to finish these letters before sunrise.” He sounds proud of this, as if it’s an accomplishment. Unfortunately, Byleth knows that it would be.

She eyes his left hand resting on the desk, the one wearing her ring. His fingers look stiff, uncomfortable. Finding a small space where she won’t disturb his mess, she props her hip against the desk and takes that hand between her own. He watches as she starts working her fingertips gently into his rough palm, massaging the cramp that’s undoubtedly developed there.

“Thank you,” he says softly. “I admit I’ve been neglecting my stretches somewhat. I think I’m already used to the numbness.”

Byleth doesn’t respond. Dimitri normally wears the ring over his glove; she’s rarely seen his bare hands, and that was mostly in their academy days. She’s almost certain there weren’t this many scars before, criss-crossing harshly over his knuckles and clashing with the lines on his palm. Her eyes move up and she realizes his forearms are decorated with a number of them, as well. Even the glimpse of his chest reveals the beginning of what looks like a blade slash, curving off dangerously close to his heart.

“Byleth?”

She smiles as she breaks－partway－out of her thoughts, but it’s a solemn expression. “I didn’t know you had so many.”

Comprehension flickers over his face, and then uncertainty. “Every soldier has them,” he reasons, in a tone hoping to placate her.

Her lips fall into a firm line. _You shouldn’t_, she thinks. _Not like this. This is the skin that a soldier thrice your age should have._ He should have wrinkles and a tan to go along with this morbid patchwork; his smooth, youthful complexion is too ironic, too telling of how much he’s gone through in so little time.

She wonders how many more he has that she doesn’t know about. She’ll find out eventually－the wedding has been rescheduled a couple times now, but she’s sure it will be here before they know it. 

He suddenly takes her free hand in his good one and turns it over. For all his concern about being too rough with things, his thumb is gentle as it caresses the heel of her palm. “I see you have a few of your own,” he points out coolly.

Byleth realizes he’s looking at the small, faded stripe of pink that curves over her wrist bone. Her lips twist as she clears her throat distractedly. “That was... actually from a cooking mishap.” Dimitri’s eyebrows rise just the way she expects them to. She shakes her head. “I don’t remember it that well, but the way my father told it, I didn’t cook with oil for a long time after that.” That isn’t to say she doesn’t have others earned from hard-fought battles, but Dimitri’s arms alone depict more history than her entire body.

Her tone is matter-of-fact, her mind still preoccupied with his scars, so she’s surprised when he chuckles as though she’s told a joke. “A worthy battle in its own right,” he assures her. “The price for your impressive cooking skills now, perhaps.” He bows his head and kisses the tiny scar, making her flush slightly. Something about that sensitive spot feels more intimate than anything else they’ve done so far… not that “anything else” has been all that much. Affectionate touches here and there, mostly hand to hand, although they aren’t shy with their kisses behind closed doors. They’ve done enough to become comfortable with each other, to have learned a few things about one another—like how he does his best to be gentle with her, how she doesn’t mind when he isn’t, the ticklish spot on the nape of his neck and how warm her body feels when he plays his teeth along her ear—but they’ve left plenty of room for discovery.

She doesn’t often think about _later_ and what that will entail—they’ve plenty of things to preoccupy themselves with in the present as is, more important things—but looking down at him like this, holding his warm gaze and reading the love and low-burning desire in his calm expression, her skin buzzing under the kiss that’s lingering a little longer than it strictly needs to, it’s suddenly difficult to do anything but.

Byleth turns her hand over to hold his chin. Her smile this time is an easy, genuine one as she studies his face, but when she speaks again after a long moment, it’s back to the matter at hand.

“How about I help you wrap this up?” She moves behind the desk to stand beside him, still searching for a hint of organization in the jumble of papers. “You dictate. I’ll write.”

Dimitri slips his arm around her waist as he considers, and then nods decidedly. “I’d appreciate it. By this time at night, my handwriting is… Its legibility can be… debatable. To put it nicely.”

While he shuffles the papers into designated piles with his free hand, Byleth slips into his lap and sits on his knees. She slides the quill and inkwell closer, and for a while it’s simply business as they start on the three replies and two proposals that need writing.

She’s pleased that he actually relaxes as he talks. His hands rest on her hips and he settles back in his chair, that attentive tension easing out of him until he finally starts to sound as tired as he surely is. Even then, his distinguished etiquette is too much of a habit to drop and he continues to ramble off pleasantries with ease, which is what most of these letters are about: a polite greeting, a reminder of the recipient’s status and importance, a plea for aid or an agreement to provide it, some more optimistic discourse about the future of the relationship between the territories or parties involved, and an equally polite farewell. Dimitri has it down to such an art that Byleth has little to contribute other than capturing his words.

By the time they reach the final letter, she’s rubbing the sleep from her tired eyes with one hand while the other waits, poised, over a fresh sheet of parchment. Dimitri heaves a low sigh that says he’s feeling much the same, but nevertheless he starts,

“To the esteemed House of Boudrot...” He rubs his hands lightly over her back. “The Blaiddyd monarchy would like to personally extend its gratitude for your cooperation regarding recent affairs…” Trailing off, he sits up straight and leans forward with his chin in her hair. His chest is warm and she gladly reclines into him. “Hmm… I wonder if this is the right time to go into detail regarding that embezzling issue,” he mumbles thoughtfully. “It may be better to do so in person, since I’ll be－” He starts to run his hands down her arms, but quickly stops. “You’re freezing,” he notes, sounding concerned.

“Of course I am. It’s like winter in here,” she chuckles. He immediately winds his arms around her and starts rubbing her skin to warm it.

“I’m sorry, beloved. You could have told me.”

“It’s alright. We’re almost done, anyway.”

He stays where he is as they continue, intent on warming her up with his touches. It’s particularly effective when he starts nuzzling her neck, sneaking the occasional glancing kiss between his spoken lines. It’s also distracting: a couple times she almost misspells a word, and once nearly drops the quill when he presses a firm kiss under the curve of her jaw.

By the time Byleth writes the farewell, she does so without his help. His attention has shifted to her entirely and his mouth hasn’t left her skin for nearly a minute. She has to－reluctantly－tug his hand from her thigh and prompt him for the final signature. The ink is still drying when she finally whirls around and kisses him, open-mouthed and eager.

He welcomes her enthusiasm with a smile before kissing her back the same way. She runs her hands up his chest, appreciating the heat of his skin through his thin shirt, and then his neck—

Dimitri jerks with a startled sound and bites her lip. She hisses in pain as they break away and touches her fingers to her mouth, expecting blood but finding none.

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly, awkwardly. “Are you alright? I didn’t expect—your hands are still so cold—”

She laughs even as her lip continues to throb. She pulls his hands in front of her and slips hers between them. “Then help me warm them.”

That puts him at ease again. He presses his warm mouth to her knuckles, to each finger, every kiss slow and attentive as though it’s a first. Byleth watches him fondly, but her eyes soon drift once more to the marks on his arms, and then up to the smaller scratches along his jaw, the faint line across the bridge of his nose.

He notices and lifts his head, but she just runs her fingers through his hair and brushes it back from his face. Her fingertips glance over another scar on his temple, and then trace the black band of his eye patch down to the patch itself, where she stops just short.

Byleth speaks almost without thinking, her voice soft and cautious.

“Can I see it?”

Dimitri’s good eye blinks. He frowns, but he looks confused rather than displeased. “You may,” he agrees easily with a nod, as if she needn’t ask. He isn’t in the habit of denying her anything. “But… why the interest?”

“Because it’s a part of you,” she says simply, honestly. “And... I want all of you.” She sweeps her thumb over his cheek with a loving smile. “You don’t ever have to hide anything from me,” she promises quietly.

He gives her fingers a light squeeze—which is still a bit tight—as he also breaks into a smile. “Of course. Nor do you.”

Byleth watches as he reaches behind his head for a moment, and then the bands slacken. He tugs the whole thing free in a practiced movement.

For a long few seconds she only looks at him. She isn’t sure what she expected, but she’s a little surprised all the same.

The blow that robbed him of his sight must have done so narrowly: the scar runs diagonally across his eyelid, nicking the underside of his eyebrow and the very top of his cheek. Perhaps it’s due to how thin the skin is in comparison, but it isn’t as faded as his other injuries: it’s still a bright, painful-looking pink.

The eye itself isn’t gone. The naturally bright blue color is now a faded shade of ice, the pupil grey and cloudy. The colors are lovely in a strange way, but Byleth has to wonder how he didn’t contract a fatal fever from such an injury. She likewise wonders if he ever saw a healer or patched up all his wounds himself.

How many times did she come close to losing him?

How many of his scars are proof that what the two of them have now might never have been, had things played out just a little differently?

Taking his face in her hands, she leans her forehead against his and looks into both his eyes, utterly at ease. It stings, knowing so much might have been different for him if only she’d _been there_, but at the same time she’s amazed and grateful for how their lives have turned out despite all that could have gone wrong—and all that did.

And if Dimitri has taught her anything, it’s that there’s a limit to how much of the present should be spent regretting the past.

His hands caress the small of her back. “It doesn’t repulse you?”

“Of course not.” Byleth feathers a kiss over his lips, and then starts combing her fingers through his hair again as she takes in his face in full: every feature, every scar. After a moment she sums up all the reasons she could give with a simple, straightforward, “I love you.”

When Dimitri looks surprised and only stares at her, she feels nervous color creep into her face. Did that not come out the way she meant for it to?

“What?” she asks hesitantly.

Her voice seems to snap him back to reality. He quickly glances down, right, and then back at her. “Nothing, it’s—I just… That’s the first time you’ve said it.”

Now she stares. Was it?

“Not that you needed to,” he adds quickly. “I’ve known your true feelings since that night—and Goddess knows I’ve never come around to saying it directly myself, either, but—it’s…” His smile isn’t exactly _shy_, but it’s crooked and a little sheepish, almost glowing. Such a soft expression is rare on his fierce features, perhaps strange to those who don’t know him well, but Byleth loves it, just like she loves that she’s the one who earned it.

“Hearing it… makes me happier than I can express,” Dimitri admits, cupping her cheek. His voice matches his look.

She leans into the touch with a tilt of her head. “I’ll say it as much as you like.”

His smile quirks as he kisses her chin—“As will I”—and then the tip of her nose—“my beloved.”—and lastly her mouth, all much more gently than those rough scars and strong arms would suggest. “I love you. More than anything.”

There’s little to be said after that as they turn to soft kisses and softer touches. Eventually Byleth tucks her head beneath his chin and curls up tight against him, smiling when he continues to lightly run his hands over her back, her arms, as if he can’t get enough, can’t express his feelings enough.

By the time he falls still and simply holds her to him, Byleth’s forgotten her intent to shoo him off to bed for a proper rest. He’s warm and comfortable and safe and there’s nowhere else she would rather be, her fading consciousness decides.

They stay as they are until long after sunrise.


End file.
